Ghost Bat- Spirit of Vengeance
Chapter 11 – Whistler
The evening sky over Gotham was a smudged canvas of dark clouds and violent flashes of lightning. Bruce Wayne stepped out of the grand conference room at Wayne Enterprises, his mind still turning over the decisions made in the meeting. The board had kept him late with their bickering about expansion into new markets, and now the city was wrapping itself in the deep hues of dusk. He was grateful for the silence outside, though it wasn't a peace that would last.
He made his way to the underground garage, the sounds of his leather shoes echoing through the marble halls. His mind was on autopilot, but then something caught his eye—something familiar. A figure down the street.
Nina?
Bruce stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat. She couldn't be here. Nina had died. Killed by a vampire just days ago. Her death had been brutal, and yet, there she was, walking swiftly down the rain-slicked street, the dim lights casting long shadows on her face.
His breath caught in his throat, the air around him suddenly thickening. Bruce's instincts screamed at him to run, to get to his motorcycle, to escape the rising dread that clawed at him. But his feet betrayed him. He took one step, then another, following her, just a little slower, just a little more careful.
Nina turned a corner, and Bruce quickened his pace, his mind whirling with the impossibility of what he was seeing.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
He followed her down narrow alleys, each step drawing him deeper into the bowels of the city. She moved fast—too fast for someone who had died.
Bruce's senses tingled as he reached the edge of a darkened building. The faintest sounds of movement echoed from the shadows above, but when he looked, there was nothing. The entire scene felt wrong. He stepped forward, scanning the area.
Then, the door to the building creaked open, and Nina stepped inside.
Bruce hesitated for only a moment before he moved toward the door. He didn't know why he felt so compelled to follow her—it was reckless, dangerous. But this wasn't just some girl. This was someone he had known. Someone he cared about….only to lose forever.
He pushed open the door, stepping into a dark, cavernous space. His footsteps seemed muffled by the thick air, and the stench of decay was unmistakable. The faint hum of old neon lights buzzed overhead.
The moment Bruce entered, the door slammed shut behind him with a deafening crash. He spun around, but it was too late. The building was alive with movement, shadows flickering in the corners. Something was closing in on him.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light illuminated the space, casting everything in sharp, unforgiving relief. And there, standing before him, was Nina.
But this was no girl he knew.
Her eyes were a glowing red, her lips pulled back in a cruel snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs. The bloodlust that had once been a distant memory now stood before him in all its horrific reality.
She hissed.
Before Bruce could react, a thousand vampires poured from the shadows, surrounding him in an instant. Their pale faces glowed in the darkness, eyes glinting with hunger. Their claws scraped against the floor, and the sound of their breath filled the air like a thousand whispered promises of death.
Bruce clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tightening. His mind screamed for action, but before he could strike, they were on him.
The first vampire lunged, its mouth wide, seeking his throat. Bruce ducked, but more were already on him, their hands grabbing at his limbs, their fangs sinking into his flesh. He felt himself being pulled to the ground, the weight of them pinning him down.
Then, there was an explosion of fire.
The vampires were torn away from him as if they'd been caught in a blast. Bruce's body surged upward, powered by the infernal energy that had always been inside him. His skull burned with hellfire, and his body transformed. The flames that licked at his bones spread outward, a vortex of infernal energy. Ghost Bat had arrived.
Chains, fiery and magical, whipped around him, snapping through the air with brutal force. The sharp, bat-like end of each chain slashed through the vampires with an unforgiving speed. They screamed as they were torn apart, their ashes scattering into the air, mingling with the thick smoke rising from the charred remains.
Above him, a figure moved—Green Blade. His green-tinted arrows whistled through the air, finding their mark in the hearts of vampires with deadly precision. He dropped down from the rafter, landing lightly on his feet. In an instant, he was a blur of motion, his sword cutting through vampires with a fluid grace that belied his size. His martial arts expertise was on full display as he spun, kicked, and slashed his way through the horde.
For a moment, it seemed as though the two of them might have a chance. Ghost Bat's chains tore through the vampires like a storm, Green Blade's arrows struck with unerring accuracy. But there were just too many of them.
More vampires poured into the room, seemingly endless in number, and the tide began to shift. Ghost Bat's chains started to slow, his movements growing more labored. Green Blade's sword was a blur, but fatigue was creeping into his limbs. His green-tinted eyes were wild with rage, but he was weakening.
Suddenly, Green Blade staggered back, his side bleeding from a deep gash. A vampire lunged at him, sinking its teeth into his neck. He grunted, but his strength was fading, and he struggled to push the creature off. Another vampire grabbed him by the arm, wrenching it behind his back.
Ghost Bat's fire burned brighter as he lunged into the fray, but even his infernal strength was being tested. He could feel the weight of the vampires closing in, their numbers too great. His chains lashed out in all directions, but it was no use. He was being overwhelmed, just like Green Blade.
Then—an explosion of green light.
A blinding flash filled the room, and for a moment, everything was still. The vampires around them dropped like ragdolls, their bodies disintegrating into ash as the green magic cut through them.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows, the source of the explosion.
Oliver Whistler.
The original Green Blade.
Whistler was older now—much older. His long, gray hair fell in tangled locks around his face, and a thick gray beard covered his chin. His limp was more pronounced than it had been in the past, but his eyes still burned with the fire of a hunter. He was no longer the young man who had once wielded the green magic, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.
"Did I catch you fuckers at a bad time!?" He said as he raised his weapon, a massive gun that hummed with green energy, and fired. The blast of green light tore through the remaining vampires, disintegrating them in an instant. Another explosion of green light followed, and the last of the vampires were obliterated.
Green Blade, breathing heavily, staggered toward Whistler. His body was battered, and blood stained his suit.
"Whistler…" he rasped, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
"I'm getting too old for this shit. Somebody get me a god-damned wheelchair!" ," Whistler replied, his voice gravelly, but still holding an edge of authority. He gave a slight nod toward Ghost Bat. "Looks like you've got friends, Green Blade."
Ghost Bat stood tall, his fiery skull still glowing, his chains retracting into his hands. He looked at Whistler, his expression unreadable.
Whistler turned to Ghost Bat. "You need a ride?"
Ghost Bat shook his head. "I DON'T RIDE IN VANS, HUMAN."
With a flick of his wrist, Ghost Bat summoned his fiery motorcycle. The roar of the engine split the air as the flames around the tires burned brighter, and the machine surged to life, like a demon summoned from the depths of hell.
Whistler raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Well, that's a bitchin' ride. But you'll follow us, I suppose."
The two hunters, along with Green Blade, climbed into Whistler's van, and they sped off into the night.
They arrived at Whistler's hideout—an old, nondescript building on the outskirts of Gotham. Inside, the air smelled of gun oil and old leather. Whistler led them to a small, cluttered room at the back, where a small fire crackled in a hearth. He motioned for Green Blade to sit, then turned to Ghost Bat.
"What you're dealing with, Ghost Bat," Whistler began, as he began preparing a small vial of green liquid, "is a problem I've seen before. Your friend here—he's got the blood of a hunter, but there's something inside him, something darker."
Green Blade frowned, but he didn't argue.
"I raised him," Whistler continued, his voice softening. "I saved him when he was just a kid—his mother killed by vampires. Took him in, trained him. Gave him the green magic. But there's a price. That bloodlust—it's always been in him. The serum will help him keep it at bay."
Green Blade took the serum from Whistler, his hands trembling slightly. He drank it in one swift motion, and almost immediately, color began to return to his face. His eyes cleared, and his breathing slowed.
"You've got work to do," Whistler said, turning toward the door. "Frost isn't going to wait forever. He's trying to trigger a fuckin' vampire apocalypse." The name hung in the air like smoke.
Deacon Frost.
The vampire lord they had been hunting.
Meanwhile…..
Deacon Frost stood before a gathering of his followers in a grand, darkened hall. His eyes, black as coal, gleamed with malicious delight as his followers bowed before him.
One vampire dared to mock him, and with a simple flick of Frost's wrist, the vampire burst into flames.
"Is there anyone else who wants to question my authority?" Frost asked, his voice smooth as silk.
The others quickly bowed their heads in submission.
Frost turned his gaze toward the assembled vampires, a wicked grin curling on his lips.
"The world will be ours," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "And no one—no one—will stop us."
To be continued…